


Episode 1: Green Arrow & Black Canary

by orphan_account



Series: Fires of Purgatory - Season 1 [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Canon Rewrite, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 06:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18255536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Oliver Queen and Laurel Lance return home from five years of hell and are soon forced to move up their plans to bring vigilante justice to the criminal and corrupt choking the life out of Starling City when an outside force puts them on the defensive. As Green Arrow & Black Canary, their allies will be few, and their enemies many, some of which may be closer than they might like to think. In 2007, the Queen's Gambit sinks to the depths and drastic actions are taken aboard a life raft.





	Episode 1: Green Arrow & Black Canary

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Arrow.
> 
> A/N: Three years ago, I started this project on the off-chance a certain photo turned out to be real. When it did, I decided to rewrite the series. But since I was dealing with untreated depression, anxiety, and other things, it ultimately failed. 
> 
> With this re-posting, I’ve decided to post each episode as its own story but connected via a series.

 

Quentin Lance smiled softly as he looked around the table of his family home. To his right was his wife, Dinah, who was sharing an amusing story about one of her students with their two guests this evening, their daughter Sara and her fiancé, Tommy Merlyn. If anyone had told Quentin he would be okay with Sara being with Tommy years ago, he would have told them to seek professional help. But the Merlyn scion had been there for Sara at her darkest hour; if it hadn’t been for Tommy’s quick thinking, Quentin could have lost his remaining daughter to a drug overdose. Tommy saving his baby girl had affected both men; Quentin had been less stodgy when it came to him coming by, and Tommy had matured a great deal, having seen someone he cared about nearly die. Tommy, with the surprised but gratified form of his father Malcolm backing him up, had been leading a campaign to clean up the city and endorsed politicians whose campaigns included a hardline policy against addictive drugs.  

Sara herself had become involved in this endeavor in her own way. After going through substance abuse programs, herself, Sara knew what they were doing wrong and had started her own support program; this was another endeavor that was endorsed by not only the Merlyns, but also the Queens. Quentin had heard from the grapevine that Thea Queen had been seen at the meetings for Sara’s group, and he had felt his stomach clench. Moira was a strong woman, but she had lost her only son, even if she had a surrogate in Tommy. Losing her only daughter to drugs would have broken her, strong as she was. It just made Quentin all that much happier that his daughter had decided to help others who struggled like she did. 

Thoughts of Sara and the Queen women ultimately led to thoughts of his eldest daughter. Even after five years, Quentin felt the pang of loss in his chest as he remembered Laurel’s smile, her teasing Sara, her love of the law and her plan to become a lawyer. Laurel had surprised everyone when she had decided to go with Oliver and Robert on the  _Queen’s Gambit_ , but Laurel had taken Quentin and Dinah aside and told them about how she felt like Ollie was pulling away. Dinah had told her that the best thing she could do was follow her heart and pointed out she had done the same and married Quentin. Since he couldn’t refute that logic, he had told Laurel to go with Robert and Oliver if she felt that was what she needed to do. When the news had revealed that the  _Queen’s Gambit_  had sunk in a storm, Quentin had been the only one home, watching the game as he did the dishes. Dinah and Sara had found him halfway through a fifth of whiskey when they came back home, cursing God, the fates, and everything else he could think of.  

Quentin was pulled from his thoughts as the telephone rang. Excusing himself from the table, he picked up the receiver and said, “Lance.”  

“Quentin, its Moira Queen,” came the voice of the Queen Matriarch. “I-I don’t quite know how to say this. . .” He could tell the woman was frazzled.  

“Moira, calm down, take a breath,” he ordered over the phone. Conversation at the dining table ceased and the three still seated there looked over at him, concern etched across their features. Tommy was slowly standing, a look of trepidation on his face. After he heard the woman do as he said, Quentin said, “Okay, now what’s going on? Is it Thea? Did something happen?”  

“No, no, Thea’s fine,” Moira said quickly. “I-I just got off the phone with the State Department. Quentin. . . they found them.”  

“Found who?” Quentin asked, perplexed but also not daring to hope.  

“Laurel and Oliver,” Moira replied, and Quentin had to lean back against the wall as the shock hit him. “They were found five days ago. A mix-up in paperwork caused the delay in the phone call to tell us until now, but they’re on a flight that’s landing soon, and they’ll be taken straight to Starling General. They were going to call you next, but I-I wanted you to find out from me.”  

“Thank you, Moira,” Quentin said, emotion thickening his tone. “We’ll meet you there. Did you call Malcolm?”  

“No, he’s here with Walter and Thea,” Moira said. “I haven’t told them yet. . . when they told me I knew I needed to tell you. You and Dinah have been dear friends. We’ll see you at Starling General, Quentin.” Moira said a quick goodbye before hanging up. Quentin hung up, his mind still whirling.  

“Dad?” Sara asked concernedly, seeing her father in a state of shock.  

“They found Laurel and Oliver,” he managed to get out. “They’re alive, and they’ll be home tonight.” He looked up, a grin breaking across his features even as tears of happiness welled in his eyes as he met the hopeful gaze of his wife and the delighted expressions of his daughter and future son-in-law. “They’re alive, and they’re coming home.” Within moments, he had strode across the room and was hugging his wife to him, Dinah weeping with relief against his shoulder. Sara joined them, and a moment later Dinah and Sara had pulled Tommy into the hug. The four allowed their relief to break down the walls they had built up the past five years, something they needed to do before they headed to Starling General to meet the Queens and (most likely) Malcolm Merlyn, who was Oliver’s godfather and was likened to a favorite uncle for the Queen children.  

**_*DC*_ **

At the Queen Mansion, Moira ended the call and set the handset on the table beside her. She had taken the call in private rather than intrude on the conversation between her new husband, Walter Steele, her daughter Thea, and their long-time friend, Malcolm Merlyn. When he was here, so warm and affable with her daughter and husband, it was hard to picture him as the ruthless and calculating man who had had the  _Gambit_  sabotaged and condemned her husband Robert to death, and as she thought until just minutes ago, her son and his girlfriend as well. But learning that Oliver had survived, and Laurel with him, brought more joy to Moira then she could possibly imagine. Now it was time to tell her own family. She knew that Oliver’s presence on the  _Gambit_  had hit Malcolm and she wondered if his survival would tip the balance between the Malcolm who was their friend and near-family, and Merlyn, the cold and calculating man who led Tempest. Malcolm had told her about this other part of him, and how when he buried his emotions he was Merlyn. She could easily tell when Merlyn was in the driver’s seat, so to speak. What was most frightening was this was not an unconscious thing where Malcolm was unaware of what Merlyn did. Malcolm would consciously become Merlyn to not be bothered by the actions he had to take.  

Entering the room where Malcolm, Walter, and Thea were speaking, Moira took a seat in the loveseat beside Walter, still overwhelmed by the news she had been given. “Moira?” Walter asked, slightly alarmed at his wife’s somewhat distant expression. “Are you alright? Who was on the phone?”  

Moira shook herself and looked into her husband’s concerned eyes, then looked to Thea’s own concerned gaze and Malcolm’s curious and concerned one. “That was the State Department,” she said after a moment. “Five days ago, a fishing crew were in the North China Sea. A signal fire on an island attracted them, and they found. . .” she stopped for a moment, still unable to believe she was going to say this. “They found Oliver and Laurel.” She met her daughter’s stunned gaze, smiling, then Malcolm’s expression of surprise and repressed joy (she knew that Malcolm had a special place in his heart for Oliver as his godfather), and finally Walter’s loving gaze as he pulled her into a hug.  

“Ollie’s alive?” Thea said, her voice choked with emotion as she thought of her goofy, lovable brother and the girl that had treated her like another little sister. “He’s coming home?”  

Moira smiled. “Yes, he and Laurel are already on their way. Some bureaucratic nonsense kept us from finding out until now. Their plane will be landing soon, and they’ll be taken directly to Starling General.”  

“Well, then,” Walter said, standing, and pulling Moira along with him. “We should get ready, and perhaps call the Lances.”  

“I already did,” Moira replied, smiling. “I-I didn’t want to risk getting so caught up in all this that I would forget to tell them. They don’t deserve to find out from the vultures that will inevitably be circling. Quentin said they’ll meet us there.”  

**_*DC*_ **

Nearly three hours later, the combined forces of the Lance, Merlyn, and Queen families were fidgeting or pacing in the waiting room as they awaited word from Doctor Lamb, the Queen family doctor, who had been asked to examine Oliver and Laurel, with Laurel’s old doctor, Elise Sattler, backing him up in case he needed it.  

When they spotted the doctors approaching, those who had been pacing stopped and those who had been fidgeting in their seats stood. Malcolm, who had delved into a calming meditative state as he leaned against the wall, pushed away and joined the rest of the crowd. He had personally found it amusing that Tommy had begun to mimic Quentin Lance’s mannerisms, such as pacing and putting a lot emotion into a single word (Tommy’s word being ‘right’ while Quentin’s was ‘yeah’).  

Dr. Lamb looked at the assembled crowd and felt a bit self-conscious. Several of these people were powerful figures in Starling’s high society. Getting on the wrong side of any of them could see him lose his license, no matter how accurate the diagnoses were. “The first thing we need to say is that you shouldn’t expect either Oliver, or Laurel, to be the people they were before the  _Gambit_ ,” Dr. Lamb told the group. “They’ve been through a lot, and that’s just on the surface, what we can see. You would have to get an opinion from another source with regards to their mental health.” He looked at Thea. “I’m not sure you should be here for this, Ms. Queen,” he said slowly. “I don’t want to give you nightmares, and it isn’t good.”  

Thea met the doctor’s gaze. “That’s my brother and my friend in there,” she challenged, channeling her mother for a moment and gaining a few small smiles from those who realized it. “I’m staying.”  

“We understand, Dr. Lamb,” Walter said, acting as the spokesman for the group. “What can you tell us?”  

“Both of them are malnourished, as is to be expected,” Dr. Sattler said, her light British accent adopting a clinical tone. “Both also have suffered a great deal of physical trauma. Dr. Lamb initially thought it was just from living on an island for five years, but unfortunately I recognized what really happened due to my time with the British SAS.”  

“What do you mean, doctor?” asked Dinah, feeling something cold and vice-like grip her in her very soul.  

Dr. Sattler gave them a look that said she wished she didn’t have to say this. “Both Mr. Queen and Ms. Lance show signs of having undergone torture.” Dinah felt that cold icy feeling expanding, even as Quentin grunted as though he’d been punched in the gut. Thea leaned into her mother’s embrace even as Moira closed her eyes to gather her strength. Walter’s arm around Moira gave a comforting squeeze, and Tommy embraced Sara as she nearly lost her footing. Malcolm gave his son a comforting hand on the shoulder even as he tried not to feel anger at himself and at the side of him that said that what happened was something that needed to for Oliver to grow up from the man-child he had been.  

Dr. Lamb took over as the one who had been Oliver’s doctor for so many years. “Oliver has several lacerations across his torso, as well as electrical burns, a healed wound made by a bladed weapon, perhaps a stone knife or arrow, and a bullet wound in his side. Whoever shot him did not want him to die. The scar shows it was stitched up by someone who had little knowledge of what they were doing. He has had several bones broken and then healed.”  

Moira had taken a seat with her daughter, holding Thea as her daughter tried to process what they were being told. She whispered soothing things to Thea, telling her it was going to be alright, that Oliver was home now, and they could help him. Moira would hold her own reaction back until later, when she and Walter were alone.  

Quentin was sickened at hearing what Oliver had been through. Sure, he had his problems with the kid, but it was the same stuff he had problems with Tommy over before Tommy had saved Sara from that overdose. Quentin wondered how much of that damage had been Oliver trying to keep his girl safe and felt a similar surge of gratitude towards Queen, even if it hadn’t quite worked since his daughter had apparently faced these things, too. “And Laurel?” he struggled to ask.  

Dr. Sattler sighed as she looked at her clipboard. “Lacerations and broken bones are the main ones,” she replied softly. “Her bloodwork came back strange, and she said she was exposed to a chemical that changed her at a molecular level. It doesn’t seem to have had any outward affect, but we’re making a note of it since it may interfere with any blood transfusions if she were to require them.” After a moment of uncomfortable silence, during which Quentin prayed to any higher power that was listening that Dr. Sattler wouldn’t say what he suspected, Dr. Sattler said, “While Laurel has denied there has ever been any sexual assault, she seems uneasy around men aside from Oliver, and she asked that only female nurses be present during her examination.”  

Dr. Lamb took over again. “Rebuilding ties with their family and friends will help them feel a sense of normalcy again, but they have lived a very harsh life the past five years, and they probably aren’t going to be big on going somewhere crowded.” Dr. Lamb said this as he gave a look towards Tommy, who was known to throw parties (albeit ones where everyone coming was searched for illegal substances) when something big happened in his life, like a birthday or him and Sara’s engagement. Tommy grimaced, seeing as he had been planning on a party to welcome Oliver and Laurel back since Quentin had told them the news. “They’ll need food and rest to get back to full health, but the biggest concern is their mental health. We strongly suggest you seek counseling for them. Give them the choice to talk to you or to a therapist, and make sure the therapist won’t speak to anyone but them about their sessions. They are not going to be very trusting, even with family and friends, about what happened to them.”  

Dinah was already compiling a list of people in her head she knew and trusted to be discreet; she would share this with Moira later.  

Dr. Sattler finished up the briefing on the condition of the rescued duo. “Finally, both patients find comfort in one another and it is our shared opinion they should not be separated. It is not only possible, but very likely, that their mental condition could become worse if they are separated.”  

If Dr. Sattler had expected outrage at this suggestion, she was likely surprised. Quentin wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t going to do anything that would further harm his daughter in any way. Moira felt very much the same. Sara could see her visits to the Queen Mansion would be doubling, since she had also taken over as Thea’s surrogate big sister since Tommy had saved her life.  

“Now, we will give you some time with them, but we want to keep them overnight for observation,” Dr. Lamb said. “We do ask that you go in groups, so as to not overwhelm them in a small space with so many people.” Seeing and hearing the assent from the group, Dr. Lamb and Dr. Sattler led them to the room where Oliver and Laurel waited. As they approached, they saw some of the differences.  

Both Oliver and Laurel had always been fit for people their age, but only just. Now both were extremely fit, Oliver broad-shouldered and clearly muscular though how much so was hidden by the hospital scrubs. His hair was cut short, almost military short, and stubble covered his face. Laurel, standing beside him and leaning against his shoulder as he held her, the two of them looking out of the city outside, held herself with a sort of poise and grace she hadn’t had before.  

Laurel’s hair had, before, always been a sort of honey-blonde color. Now, after five years of being mostly outdoors, it was a bleached blonde color like Sara’s, and Tommy hoped no one was dumb enough to use a dumb blonde joke on Laurel. The woman had always been intelligent with a sharp tongue, and with the way she held herself and what she had been through, Tommy doubted she would take kindly to being referred to as just another bimbo.  

Moira, Quentin, Dinah, and Malcolm were the first to go in. Oliver and Laurel turned to face them, and Laurel let a brilliant smile flood across her features as she broke away from Oliver to embrace her parents. Quentin and Dinah held their daughter close as Malcolm and Moira made their way to Oliver. Moira placed a hand on her son’s cheek as he smiled softly at her. “Hey, mom,” he said.  

“My beautiful boy,” Moira half-sobbed, and she pulled him into a hug. Oliver returned it, closing his eyes and letting himself smell the familiar perfume his mother had always worn, which had always given him a sense of home, of safety, all his life, just as his father’s cologne, his sister’s laughter, and his godfather’s deep chuckle had. 

As they broke from the hug, Oliver looked to Malcolm, who smiled warmly and said, “It’s good to see you alive, Oliver. I’m just sorry we didn’t look harder.”  

“I don’t think it’d made much difference if you had,” Oliver said. “The island they found us on is Lian Yu, or Purgatory, and it lives up to its name. All a search party would have found is death.”  

“Yet you survived, both of you,” Malcolm pointed out.  

“Not without sacrifice,” Oliver said. The tone told Malcolm and Moira not to push on this topic. “So, any word on when we can leave? Being in this place, with these windows. . . it makes me uneasy.”  

“They want to keep you both overnight for observation,” Moira said. “But you’ll come home as soon as we can arrange it in the morning.”  

“Good,” Oliver said. 

Moira hesitated a moment before she built up her courage and said, “Oliver, there’s something else you should know. I remarried a few years ago.” Seeing a glint of surprise in her son’s eye, Moira continued, “I don’t want you to think I was dishonoring Robert’s memory, but as far as I knew, he was dead.”  

“I’d like to meet him,” Oliver said quietly.  

Moira turned and waved to Walter before turning back to Oliver. “You remember your father’s friend from the company, Walter Steele?”  

“I do,” Oliver said. Walter entered and Oliver extended his hand, a small smile on his face. “I understand congratulations are in order, Walter,” he said quietly. “Welcome to the family.”  

“Thank you, Oliver,” Walter replied, a smile on his face. “It’s damn good to see you.” 

Oliver looked at them both, along with Malcolm, and said, “I’m sure you’re wondering about Dad. He died when the  _Gambit_  went down. I’m sorry it couldn’t be better news.”  

“We already expected it, Oliver,” Moira told her son softly. “But I’m glad to know he didn’t suffer.” Only later, as she thought over this conversation, would Moira have noted the stiff posture Oliver briefly had and realize that her son had thought she was alluding to his own suffering and that of Laurel.  

After several minutes of speaking, the parental brigade left, giving Oliver and Laurel a few moments of respite before Thea, Tommy, and Sara entered. Sara immediately went to Laurel, clutching at her, and Laurel hugged her sister back, smiling and whispering that it was alright.  

Thea had similarly latched onto Oliver, who chuckled as he held his sister. “I knew it,” Thea said to him quietly. “I knew you were alive.”  

“You were with me the whole time, Thea,” Oliver said quietly, and smiled at his brother in all but blood as Thea smiled and tightened her grip. “Hey, buddy.”  

“Ollie,” Tommy said, grinning. Thea broke away and let the two men begin rebuilding their bromance. “Good to see you again, buddy.” 

There wasn’t a lot of talk, mainly just soaking up being in the presence of those they thought lost to them, from both sides. Soon enough, the doctors returned and informed them visiting hours had passed. The families departed with a final wave to their recovered members, and Oliver and Laurel remained in the room for the time being as the doctors wanted to give them a chance to unwind.  

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell them about burying your father on the island,” Laurel said quietly.  

Oliver held her close, Laurel leaning her head back against his chest. “As far as I’m concerned, it was the truth,” he replied in the same fashion. “My father died on the  _Gambit_.” 

**_*DC*_ **

_Five Years Ago_

Inside the  _Queen’s Gambit_ , safe from the stormy seas outside, Robert Queen was looking at a weather map on the wall as his bodyguard, David Hackett, came in from the storm, water pouring from the deck and down onto the staircase before the door shut behind the crewman.  

“The storm's a category 2," Hackett said, managing to maintain an even tone as he spoke to his employer despite the chill in his bones from the storm outside. "The captain recommends we head back." 

Robert sighed. He had hoped to be able to make it to China and begin the process of working with Frank on curbing Malcolm’s mad plan to destroy the Glades. It looked like it would have to wait; he only hoped Frank didn’t lose the bravery to stand against Malcolm in the meantime. Robert wouldn’t be surprised if Frank faltered eventually; when Malcolm went cold and calculating it was hard not to toe the party line. "All right, inform the crew,” he said, even as Oliver came out of the state room, apparently to take a breather from the discussions he was having with Laurel Lance (when the two weren’t having other ‘discussions’).  

“Are we in trouble?" he asked, not really worried since the  _Gambit_  had withstood storms before but still concerned since his girlfriend was on the ship with him.  

“Not if you and Laurel have reached an understanding in your negotiations," Robert teased with a small smile. Oliver let out a small laugh. “You know, son, you have a real winner with Ms. Lance,” Robert said, dropping the teasing tone and giving his son a serious look. “Not a lot of girls as smart as she is would keep coming back with how you treat her.”  

Oliver was surprised at his father’s serious tone. They rarely spoke about women, especially since his father had shown disapproval about him sleeping around behind Laurel’s back. “I know, Dad,” Oliver sighed. “I just. . . I’m not sure I’m ready to settle down. She is, and she’s got it all planned out, but. . .”  

“But you don’t know how to handle it,” Robert finished. Seeing his son look at him in surprise, Robert laughed and said, “I was your age once, too, Oliver and I was no different. I had one girl who kept coming back no matter what, even though my eyes wandered a bit too often for her tastes. That woman was your mother.” For a moment, Robert hesitated, before he finally said, “The truth is, son, even after I married your mother my eyes wandered, and I cheated. Despite this, she kept forgiving me and kept our family together, when she rightly could have divorced me, taken half the fortune along with you and your sister, and made me pay alimony on top of that. Your mother is a very smart, very dedicated woman who puts her family ahead of everything else. Laurel is like that, but she also has a much larger heart than your mother. Don’t make my mistakes, Oliver, because the difference between Moira and Laurel is that Laurel has other options and is with you because she sees something more in you.”  

With that, Robert left his son standing in the hallway, until a call of “Ollie?” from the door of the stateroom had Oliver turn to see Laurel. “Where do you keep the bottle opener on this thing?” she asked, a small smile on her face as they both remembered her asking a similar question only weeks earlier.  

**_*DC*_ **

_Present Day_

It was late the next day, thanks to bureaucracy and a need to locate clothes suitable for both castaways, that the Queens’ Bentley pulled up in front of the mansion, the rest of the families already waiting inside. Oliver and Laurel had been brought a change of clothes by Moira and Dinah, who led the way to the mansion, Oliver having retrieved the large trunk with foreign writing all over it rather than let the family valet handle it. “Your room is just as you left it,” Moira was telling Oliver, “I didn’t have the heart to change a thing.”  

Laurel smirked in Oliver’s direction, and he rolled his eyes, knowing she was thinking of the package of condoms in the desk drawer. Most of their time together on the Island was seeking comfort only. The only time they had done more was when they were in Hong Kong. Neither believed it would be a good idea for them to bring a child into the world while they were on Lian Yu, and in Hong Kong they had access to contraceptives and protection.  

Moira and Dinah led the two into the living room where the rest of their families had gathered. Oliver and Laurel looked at the way the seating had been arranged and Oliver murmured, “Why do I get the feeling this is gonna be some kind of intervention?”  

“Because you know our families,” Laurel replied in kind.  

Oliver and Laurel took the loveseat that had been left open for them and waited.  

Moira was the one to speak. “Oliver, Laurel,” she said softly, “your doctors told us about what your scars meant, what you had been through. We won’t ask you to talk to us about it, but we do want you to talk to  _someone_. Dinah has a list of therapists she knows to be discreet.”  

Oliver and Laurel looked at one another, communicating without speaking. This surprised but heartened the parents in the room, seeing the two who had been on the rocks when they vanished so close and clearly capable of communicating their thoughts and feelings to one another through head tilts, raised eyebrows, smiles, and scowls. Tommy and Sara were surprised since they hadn’t quite reached that stage, but then, they  _did_  have distractions. Thea, meanwhile, mused that she had never really seen her mom like that with either Walter or Dad. The only person close had been Malcolm, and Thea just wanted to steer clear of that minefield. She already suspected her mom and Malcolm had been comforting one another before Walter came into the picture.  

Oliver sighed and turned back to them. “We’ll look at the list of therapists, see what their reputations are like,” he said. “But please, don’t push it. We’ve worked through a lot of the issues we initially had when we had the time. Reopening those wounds would do little good.” Laurel nodded her agreement; she had no desire to revisit the events in Hong Kong and what had happened to her there. Not that she could, anyways, thanks to the damned non-disclosure agreements A.R.G.U.S. had wielded over them. But them agreeing with A.R.G.U.S.’ ‘requests’ for N.D.A.’s had given them the chance to have some equipment brought in on the sly, delivered to the Queen Steel Factory where Oliver and she intended to set up their base of operations.  

The group was satisfied with Oliver and Laurel being willing to look at the list of therapists. Oliver and Laurel decided to retreat to Oliver’s room where they could talk in peace. The families were surprised at this, thinking they would want to talk to them, but it appeared neither were in the mood for a conversation. It was only in the minutes following Oliver and Laurel’s departure from the room that the families realized that ambushing them the way they had would have seemed antagonistic to the two castaways. Sara, Tommy, and Thea felt like facepalming, and the parental brigade were beating themselves up mentally. Well, except for Malcolm; he had opposed broaching the topic like this. But seeing as none of them knew of his time in Nanda Parbat, or of his past before he became Malcolm Merlyn, his suggestion to do it in a more intimate fashion, such as just Dinah and Moira, had been rejected.  

**_*DC*_ **

Later that evening, the long dining table was full for the first time in a while as the Queens, Merlyns, and Lances sat down for a meal with their returned family members. Oliver sat at one end, Laurel on his right-hand side, her parents and Malcolm filling in the other seats towards the end, where Walter and Moira were seated. On the other side was Thea, Tommy, and Sara. The families took note that Oliver and Laurel avoided many of the foods they had once eaten with vigor, choosing things such as fruits, vegetables, and water over the wine provided for the meal. Moira made a note to have the mansion’s food-stores adjusted so Laurel and Oliver could re-acclimate to western fare. Dinah cursed herself silently for not realizing the two castaways would have a far different diet after so many years away.  

Okay," Tommy said, as he continued trying to catch the two up on things they had missed. "What else did you miss? Superbowl winners: Giants, Steelers, Saints, Packers, Giants  _again_.” Oliver wondered why Tommy was talking about football since neither he nor Laurel ever had an interest in that sport. “A black president, that's new.” Laurel tried not to roll her eyes at this. “Oh, and 'Lost,' they were all dead. . . I think," he finished, still confused over that ending.  

Sara, meanwhile, could do little more than mentally facepalm. Her fiancé was a moron. Bringing up a series about people stuck on an island to two people who had just come back from an island where they had apparently been tortured? How tactless could you get?  

Unfortunately, Tommy was not the least tactless person there; that dubious honor belonged to the only person in the room under the age of 20. Thea, hoping to get her brother and Laurel to talk a bit more, suddenly asked, “What was it like there?"  

There was a mildly tense silence as everyone turned to look at Oliver and Laurel. Laurel kept herself from saying anything for the time being as Oliver plastered a fake smile on his face. "Cold," He said after a moment, an air of finality in that one word. 

“Tomorrow, the four of us, we're doing the city," Tommy suddenly announced, gesturing to Oliver, Laurel, Sara, and then himself. This was partly to make up for his own faux pas as well as to turn attention away from Thea, who had the grace to look guilty at hers. "Just to see how things are now, you know? Let you see the city without feeling like you’re getting too overwhelmed." 

“That sounds like a great idea," Moira said, hoping her son and Laurel would take the offer.  

“I agree,” Laurel said, smiling. “I think we both could do with the refresher. We didn’t really pay much attention on the way back to the mansion.” Dinah smiled at this. Her daughter and Oliver had spent most of the ride back staring at one another, having a silent conversation. It did her heart good to see her daughter and the boy she was certain would be her son-in-law soon enough being able to communicate so easily, in comparison to how they had been five years ago.  

Oliver looked at Laurel and said, “Maybe we should tell them.”  

Laurel looked at him. “You sure?” she asked. “I personally don’t know if they could take the shock,” she added a bit teasingly.  

“Pretty sure they could,” Oliver said.  

As they were engaging in this playful debate, smiles erupted around the room at the comfortable nature. During this, the Queens’ long-time maid and the woman who had helped Moira corral Oliver, Tommy, and Thea more than once, Raisa, came back into the room with a bowl of pears. She tripped on the rug and stumbled into Oliver, who deftly caught her and the bowl, surprising those at the table with his quick reflexes. "Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Oliver," she said, having been reunited with Oliver earlier in the day when he and Laurel had been just laying down, thinking about their upcoming plans.  

Oliver smiled at the Russian woman who had been like a second mother to him. “It’s alright, no harm done," he replied in fluent Russian, further surprising those in the room who didn’t know about his knowledge of languages.  

“Dude, you speak Russian?" Tommy said in surprise. 

“I didn't realize you took Russian at college, Oliver," Walter said, slightly confused. 

“Because I didn’t,” Oliver said. “I learned it on the island. One of the people there who helped us was a Russian named Anatoli Knyasev. He taught us the language.” What Oliver didn’t mention was that Anatoly was a highly-placed member of the Bratva who had elevated Oliver to the rank of captain in said organization. Neither Oliver nor Laurel noticed the interest that lit in Malcolm’s eyes when he heard the name. “Now, there’s something we need to tell you. About a year ago, we finally had some peace. I asked her a question she had wanted to hear; I asked her to marry me if we ever got off Lian Yu.”  

“And I said yes,” Laurel said, smiling at the group. “It was a very nice touch, proposing by the lagoon.”  

“Well, that was where you reminded me that I was a better person than I was thinking I was,” Oliver said. “It felt right.”  

“And it was,” Laurel told him.  

“Well, this is wonderful news,” Moira said, smiling. She was amazed that despite the hardships they had no doubt faced, her son and his girlfriend (his  _fiancé_ , she corrected herself) had come through not only together, but with their relationship so much stronger.  

Sara had stood up and moved to Laurel, hugging her. She whispered, “Congratulations, Laurel. I’m glad he finally wised up and did the proper thing for you.”  

“Thank you, Sara,” Laurel whispered back. “I’m glad we had that talk the night before he left. If I had the chance to not go on the  _Gambit_  that day, I would still choose to go. It might have been hard the past five years, but it’s worth it to know Oliver so well now.” Oliver nodded in agreement.  

Dinah and Sara soon dragged Laurel off to talk, while Quentin grumbled out the normal threat of a father: “Backtrack on this Queen, and I’ll find something on you to put you in Iron Heights for good.” Oliver had simply smiled at the detective. Malcolm and Tommy had pulled him aside soon after, congratulating him. Moira had disappeared for a few minutes and returned, giving Oliver a small box. “I believe this should be on your fiancé’s finger, Oliver.”  

Oliver putting the ring on Laurel’s finger signifying their engagement had the group pouring drinks for the next half hour in celebration. Oliver was amused, knowing they were going overboard mainly because he and Laurel were home and safe. If they knew what else Oliver and Laurel were planning in the coming weeks, they would have likely been less enthusiastic. But revealing they were engaged cleared the way for them to marry soon. Part of their plan required them to have a place of their own. In a few weeks they would be looking for someplace suitable and move in together. Oliver remembered Laurel’s snarky comment about how it took five years in hell for him to agree to her request for them to move in together and smiled.  

Soon enough, Oliver and Laurel showed signs of tiredness and departed, with the guests leaving the mansion soon afterward. Dinah and Sara were already planning on having an all-girls get together with Laurel, Moira, and Thea to plan out the wedding for the two of them.  

Back at his own mansion, the affable and warm expression of Malcolm faded as the cold and calculating Merlyn began to examine the events of the past twenty-four hours. The return of Oliver Queen and Laurel Lance had been big and bold, and a surprise. While the boy held a special place in his heart, Merlyn had always seen the Queen scion as spineless and weak. The man he had seen so far was strong, and moved with the grace of a predator, as did Laurel Lance. Whatever had happened, the two had gone through an intense experience. 

With the knowledge that his son and future daughter-in-law would be driving Queen and Lance around tomorrow, Merlyn placed a phone call. It was time to discover if Robert Queen had informed his son and the daughter of a detective about the Undertaking.  

Later that night, as a storm raged outside of the Queen Mansion, Oliver was caught up revisiting another storm, in another time and place; a storm that had changed the lives of him and his fiancé forever.  

**_*DC*_ **

_Five Years Ago_

Only moments before, they had been on their way to the commissary to find a late snack since neither of them were tired. Now, they were swimming for their lives, holding onto one another as they swam towards the gaping hole that represented freedom from a watery grave, and hopefully towards the surface. Allowing their breath to leave incrementally, the young man and woman escaped the wreckage of the  _Queen’s Gambit_  and fought towards the surface, where they could see light from other survivors searching for them. Breaking the surface with a gasp, Oliver Queen pulled his girlfriend to surface as he felt her weaken slightly, and she broke the swirling ocean surface, coughing and gasping for air as he had only moments earlier.  

“Oliver! Laurel!” The two turned as they heard their names, and saw Robert calling from the nearby life raft, his bodyguard aboard with him. They frantically swam to the life raft and were helped aboard the raft.  

Robert handed Oliver a bottle of water. "Here, son," he said, "drink." Oliver did so, before handing the bottle to Laurel.  

“What the hell are you doing?!" Hackett shouted. "That's all we've got!" 

Robert glared at the man. "If anybody's making it out of here, it's gonna be them!" he snapped back as Laurel passed the bottle back to him. Robert put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer to his chest. Laurel huddled close to Oliver.  

“I'm so sorry," Robert said, mainly to Oliver but in part to Laurel, shouting over the storm. "I thought I'd have more time.” He hadn’t expected Frank to back out so quickly, or to inform Malcolm before the  _Gambit_  had even left the harbor. “I'm not the man you think I am, son! I didn't build our city, I  _failed_  it! And I wasn't the only one…" 

**_*DC*_ **

_Present Day_

Laurel sat up in bed, looking around the familiar but unfamiliar bedroom for a moment, trying to figure out what had woken her. Then she heard the murmuring beside her.  _Oh, no,_  she thought. She knew Oliver’s nightmares were often the worst when something reminded him of their time on the island or with Waller. She moved off the bed, knowing it was best to wake him from a distance, even as the door opened and Moira entered. Seeing her son in distress, Moira moved to wake him, but Laurel moved to intercept her. “Don’t,” she said quietly. “He has a very bad reaction sometimes. Its best to wake him from a distance.”  

She moved to the edge of the bed and began calling to Oliver. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice taking on the soothing tones she had found best worked to coax Oliver from these nightmares. “It’s alright, Ollie. We’re home, we’re safe. We’re not on the Island anymore.”  

After another few minutes, Oliver finally was pulled from his fitful sleep, and he seemed to relax as he realized he wasn’t back on the raft with his father, but back home with his family and his fiancé. Laurel moved around the bed and sat beside him. She brushed her fingers along one of his temples and he leaned in to her touch. Moira smiled at this, up until Laurel asked quietly, “The  _Gambit_?”  

“Yeah,” Oliver sighed out. “I really hate that one.” Moira departed, hiding her guilt and Walter accompanied her, assuming Laurel would comfort Oliver as needed.  

**_*DC*_ **

The next day, Oliver and Laurel were in the back of the expensive (as if Tommy would have any other kind of car) four-door as they toured around the city, including the Glades. Laurel and Oliver both noted the Glades were worse than ever before and wondered just how many of the rich and powerful in Starling City were involved in what Robert Queen had been.  

They came to a stop at a corner. Across from them, a dilapidated building stood, with several homeless people out front standing close to a warming barrel. To the right stood the Queen steel mill. From what Oliver and Laurel could tell, the site remained undisturbed by the residents of the Glades, which meant their equipment was probably safe inside. "This city's gone to crap." Tommy muttered to the two in the back. "Your dad sold his factory just in time. Why'd you want to drive through this neighborhood anyway?" he asked as Oliver turned from looking at the factory. 

“Just reminiscing," he said. 

“So, where to next?" Tommy asked him, turning and grinning at them. "Steaks at the Palm?" 

Laurel cleared her throat. “I have a friend from college I thought I’d touch bases with,” she said. “I checked last night and found out she works at CNRI in the Glades. Could we swing by there?”  

“Sure,” Tommy said. “Steaks afterward?”  

Oliver chuckled while the Lance sisters rolled their eyes. Though Laurel had the additional thought floating through her head,  _At least he didn’t say something like meaningless sex. It’d be a race between me and Sara for who clawed his eyes out._  

At C.N.R.I., Joanna de la Vega had just been informed that Adam Hunt, whom she had been building a case against, had managed to change the venue so that the case was now being heard by Judge Grell, whose re-election campaign Hunt had funded. She growled low in her throat, knowing there was little she could do to change the fact that this city was little more than a playground for the corrupt and powerful like Hunt. Sighing, she moved to her desk and corkboard so she could examine the case, see if she could find another avenue to attack Hunt from. She stopped dead, though, when she saw her best friend standing there. “Laurel?” she said, a grin coming to her face. She had heard the news, of course, but she hadn’t expected to see her friend so soon.  

“Hey, Joanna,” Laurel said, grinning as she turned from the corkboard which she had been examining. “It’s good to see you again.” Joanna closed the distance between them quickly and hugged Laurel, who returned it.  

Deciding to take their conversation outside, Joanna quickly noticed that Oliver Queen was at a nearby outdoor café along with Tommy Merlyn and Laurel’s sister, Sara. “So, tour group?” she joked.  

“Just trying to get a feel for the city again without getting overwhelmed,” Laurel said, continuing with her and Oliver’s line that they didn’t do very good with crowds. They had talked about it during those final months of preparing to return, and one of the main things Laurel had made abundantly clear was they were not going to use his playboy antics as a cover. She was not living that life again. After she had also pointed out that they would end up being sent to the hospital and someone there might well realize their injuries were the result of torture, they had come up with the plan they were now implementing. “I saw you’re taking on Adam Hunt. How’s that going?”  

“Not good,” Joanna sighed. “He’s got us in front of Judge Grell, who owes Hunt his seat as a judge. But what about you? How is it being back? And don’t think I didn’t notice that ring on your finger.”  

Laurel chuckled. “Ollie proposed when we were on the island, asking me to marry him if we ever got off it. Last night, we told our families and Moira went and got this ring.”  

“So, I guess five years helped straighten out your guys’ attitudes,” Joanna said, then winced. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. Sometimes I just shouldn’t speak; I always sound like I’m criticizing.”  

“No, it’s okay, Joanna,” Laurel said, stopping and placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You listened to me vent about Ollie for hours. And yes, we got things worked out. Ollie realized that his fear of commitment was something he got from his father, who talked to him about it on the  _Gambit_. As for me, well, I realized I was being a bit too idealistic back then. When I think back on what I was like…” Laurel shook her head ruefully. “That girl wouldn’t have been able to survive Starling City.”  

Joanna and Laurel’s talk was quick in comparison to the other reunions Laurel and Oliver had had since their return, with Joanna promising to go out with Laurel for drinks sometime once Laurel had settled back into life in Starling City. Laurel also asked Joanna for a favor, to investigate the whereabouts of a Cindy Wallace. Laurel hadn’t forgotten the promise she had made to the girl’s father.  

Seeing Oliver was done at the outdoor café, she met up with him. “Tommy and Sara taking some alone time?” she asked.  

“Yeah, probably gossiping about how much we’ve changed,” Oliver sighed. “I told them we’d meet them at the car.” Laurel nodded in agreement and the two walked down the sidewalk towards the alley by the Italian restaurant nearby that Tommy had parked his car in to avoid having to pay the meter for a parking space in the street; his reasoning was that drug addicts raided those all the time and he wasn’t going to fuel anyone’s habit. Sara had chimed in that she knew people who did just that.  

Just as they entered the alley, a van came screeching out of nowhere, slamming on the breaks before it hit the couple. Two men in black ski masks and blue hoodies came out of nowhere. Oliver and Laurel tensed up, ready for a fight, but before either of them could do more than that, the masked men shot the pair with tranquilizer darts. The serum in the darts didn’t take down either Oliver or Laurel very quickly, but they saw Sara and Tommy rising from their seats at the café in alarm, and as the world faded from view, they saw a cook come out of the back of a restaurant, apparently in the middle of taking out the trash. He only had time for a surprised “What the hell!” before a third masked man with a submachine gun shot him. Then there was only darkness for both Laurel and Oliver.

**_*DC*_ **

The next thing either of them knew, bags were being pulled off their heads, and they blinked so their eyes could adjust to the dim light of what appeared to be one of the many abandoned warehouses in the Glades. “Mr. Queen, Ms. Lance,” one of the masked men said. His two companions had their submachine guns held loosely at their sides, while the man who had spoken held only a Taser. “My employer wishes to express their apologies for the treatment you’ve received so far and does not wish to cause you undue harm. However, my employer has questions that need answered. I do hope we can handle this without further violence.”  

Oliver raised his eyebrows at the way the mercenary in front of him spoke. He turned to look at Laurel, who had an eyebrow quirked herself. “You get the Fyers vibe from this guy, too?” he asked quietly. She nodded. “Good. Didn’t want to think I was imagining it.”  

“Mr. Queen,” the mercenary spoke.  

“Oh, yes, sorry, I forgot you were there,” Oliver said, turning back with his playboy grin on his face. “Now, what is it you wanted to know?”  

“Did your father tell you anything before he died?” the masked mercenary asked.  

“Well, he told me I had a real keeper in Laurel, and I should try and work things out with her because she had other options,” Oliver said with a careless shrug, even as he worked to free himself of the zip-cuffs. Honestly, they couldn’t at least use rope or chains? That was more difficult to break free of; Oliver should know, having been tied with all three in the past. “He also told me that he had a wandering eye himself and that my Mom was the reason it stopped.”  

“My employer has little desire to hear the tales of a philandering businessman’s hypocritical advice to his equally philandering son,” the mercenary sighed. “Now, we’ll try this one more time before I lose my patience. Did your father tell you anything?”  

Oliver turned to Laurel. “Yeah, he’s definitely a Fyers clone, complete with being genial first and then moving on to the whole ‘threaten with torture’ thing.” Laurel chuckled, working on her own set of zip-cuffs. Ollie had developed this way of handling ‘interrogators’ during the months on Lian Yu between him killing Fyers and the arrival of the  _Amazo_. It had been surprisingly effective at keeping mercenaries of all kinds from getting information until they were ready to make their move.  

“Very well, Mr. Queen, if you won’t answer, perhaps your girlfriend will?” the mercenary said. He moved to stand in front of Laurel. “I hear your family has a rather interesting fascination with canaries. So, little bird, why don’t you sing me a song?”  

Oliver groaned at this, hanging his head. “You really shouldn’t have said that,” he said, even as he broke free of his restraints. “She  _really_  hates people calling her a songbird.”  

“And what’s she going to do?” laughed the mercenary. “You’re both restrained.”  

“Well, I can do  _this_ ,” Laurel sneered, before she screamed. A sonic wave, a by-product of the procedure that had given her this ability, struck the two men with submachine guns. The weapons dropped to the ground as the men grabbed their eardrums. Oliver, free of his restraints, leaped at the remaining man and delivered a solid uppercut, sending the man backward. Laurel ended the Canary Cry, as she had come to call this ability, and finished breaking free of her own restraints as Oliver moved in and dealt with the now unarmed kidnappers. Oliver delivered a crushing blow to the windpipe of one man, before seizing the other and snapping his neck. He looked to Laurel, and she nodded. They didn’t have a choice; they couldn’t have anyone knowing what they could do, and neither was willing to put up with torture again.  

Seeing the remaining mercenary starting to stir, Oliver and Laurel approached him. Oliver kicked the Taser out of reach before pulling the mask off. The man beneath it was around the same age as Fyers, his features suggesting he lived the high life for a mercenary. He blinked up and saw the two of them standing over him. “Who are you?” he coughed out.  

“We’re what this city needs to survive,” Laurel said flatly, before she curb-stomped the man’s groin. As the man made an odd  _squelching_  noise deep in his throat, Oliver gave her an amused look. “Now, who hired you?”  

The mercenary, coughing looked up at them and shook his head. “You think I’d betray my employer? You can be as skilled as anyone, have freaky powers, even be immortal if you want. But I’m not gonna betray him. You may be trying to lay claim to these streets, but this city is his.”  

“Well, thanks,” Oliver said. “Now we just have to concentrate on the men.”  

The man froze, clearly thinking back over his words. He seemed to be working on saying something, but instead, the tell-tale signs of him having taken a cyanide capsule visible as he frothed at the mouth, keeling over. Oliver knelt to double-check his pulse. “Cyanide pill, imbedded in the cheek,” he murmured, recognizing the results from experience with A.R.G.U.S. He looked up at Laurel. “Well, I think our job just got a lot more complicated,” he said.  

“If someone’s asking questions about what Robert might have told you,” Laurel said, giving Oliver a look of consternation, “then he probably wasn’t the one who wrote the List, and he sure as hell wasn’t in charge of whatever they were doing.”  

“No, probably not,” Oliver said. “We’ll have to figure things out. But for now, we have something else we need to do.” Here, he smiled at Laurel. “Which one of us gets the credit for this one?” 

**_*DC*_ **

Within an hour, the two were safely ensconced back in the Queen Mansion, where they were being questioned by Detective Hilton, Lance’s partner, with Lieutenant Franklin Pike overseeing it. It had taken all of one minute for Oliver and Laurel to figure out Pike: he was a schmoozer. With Lance excusing himself from the case due to the personal connection (his daughter being one of the victims), Pike had smoothly (in his own opinion) placed himself as one of the investigating officers for the sole purpose of having a good repertoire with the two returning castaways. No doubt he thought this would earn him some good will later down the road; the mutual thought between the two was,  _Poor bastard_.  

“So, Mr. Queen, Ms. Lance,” Pike said, as Hilton reviewed the notes he had taken during the interview. “You’re back only a few days and someone kidnaps you both. Then a woman in black leather comes in, takes out the kidnappers, and cuts you free? Why wouldn’t she hide her identity? Why help you in the first place?”  

“Well, I’m pretty sure the fake blonde wig and the mask would keep her from being easily fingered,” Laurel said dryly. “As for why she helped? Well, Ollie and I wanted to see what the city was like. Can’t say I’m too impressed with the police. When we were downtown, we saw beat cops on nearly every block and squad cars every 3 or four blocks. But when we went through the Glades we didn’t see a single cop. If you got a vigilante problem, it’s probably because they got sick of the cops leaving the Glades to rot.”  

Quentin winced, but he couldn’t exactly deny what his oldest was saying. Over the past five years, the Glades had worsened at an astronomical rate, with 1 Police Plaza finally abandoning the Glades. Not officially, of course; but the precinct there was no longer in operation, with the midtown precinct being the only one that would answer calls, often thirty minutes or longer being the average response time. 

Pike, for his part, recalled the Glades had had a vigilante problem a couple of years back and had to admit that Laurel Lance was probably right. “Did the woman say anything?”  

Oliver and Laurel glanced at one another before Oliver said, “Only that she opposed those who had failed this city, and she would be watching to see if we would do the same. I didn’t really understand why she said that.”  

“Well, clearly, the woman is deranged,” Moira said. Laurel kept her face as blank as possible while inside she was glaring; she was  _not_  deranged. That was Oliver’s side of the partnership. “You’re both lucky she seems to have deemed you ‘innocent’ in her eyes.” 

“If either of you remember anything else, feel free to call or pass it on to Detective Lance to give us,” Pike said. He and Hilton left not long after.  

The next day, as they exited the mansion and headed for the garage to find the least-expensive car the Queens owned so that they could begin working on getting the basics set up at their operations center below the factory in the Glades, Oliver and Laurel were distracted by Moira calling out to them. “Oliver, Laurel,” she called, waving them over to where she stood with a tall, well-built African-American. “I want to introduce you both to someone.” She gestured to the man beside her. “This is John Diggle. He’ll be accompanying you from now on.”  

Oliver gave his mother one of his now-patented fake smiles as he said, "I don't need a babysitter."  

“No offense, Mr. Diggle,” said Laurel to the man in question. “But after five years, we prefer our own company and those of only family and friends.”  

“It’s no problem, Ms. Lance,” the man said. “I’ve dealt with a lot worse.”  

Moira sighed and said, “I understand we’ve pushed you both in directions you didn’t want to go, with the whole therapy issue, but this is something that both myself and Laurel’s parents need.” Here, Moira took on an amused look. “You could always go with your father’s idea of a S.W.A.T. team, Laurel.”  

Oliver and Laurel exchanged a long, tense look, before Oliver said, “Mom, do you really think that in the five years away, Laurel and I never had to defend ourselves? Yesterday, we weren’t expecting any danger. On the island, we found the worst humanity had to offer. Do you think we never learned how to fight back, that we remained the same people?”  

At Moira’s look of consternation, Oliver turned to Mr. Diggle and saw a glimmer of respect in the man’s eye. “I’m sorry you had to come all this way for no reason, Mr. Diggle. If I ever do choose to hire a bodyguard, if only for appearances’ sake, I will keep you in mind.” Oliver held out a hand to the man.  

“Thank you, Mr. Queen, but if I’m hired to protect someone, I’d like to work for my paycheck,” Diggle replied.  

At this, Oliver tilted his head, a wicked idea coming to his head. “Well, while I don’t need protection, and neither does my fiancé, you could keep an eye out for my sister. She has occasionally fallen prey to the wrong sort of influence and she certainly doesn’t have the skill to evade a man of your talents.” Here, he gave his mother a look. “Besides, out of our entire family and those connected with it, she’s the most vulnerable.” Moira had to agree to that.  

Later that day, Oliver and Laurel entered the long-abandoned husk of the Queen steel factory. Trash littered the floor, and Oliver stopped when something caught his eye. Laurel, seeing what it was, stopped and placed a supporting hand on Oliver’s shoulder as he bent down and picked up an old Queen Consolidated annual report, his father's face on the cover. “I don’t like that we have to move up our plans,” he said out loud even as he stared at his father’s image, remembering the last time he had seen it, in the message he had found while on the company servers a few years back. “It elevates the risk level that we’ll be found out.”  

“True, but at least with us talking about my vigilante identity being the one to rescue us, they won’t be looking at the newly-recovered castaways,” Laurel pointed out. “Even with you telling your mother we can handle ourselves. What was going through your head when you did that?”  

Oliver sighed and said, “I guess I’m just not comfortable letting anyone else get close. The only person I could have ever seen myself willing to hire as my bodyguard once we got back from the island was Slade. I even asked him about it during one of those times Shado was out helping you train.”  

“I get the feeling he laughed and said he’d do it if it meant he got to knock you on your ass,” Laurel said, chuckling sadly. Slade and Shado had been like family to them, though Slade had always been more of a father figure than a sibling like Shado had been. Losing them the way they had always made her feel sad. It would have been wonderful to have them both with them as they worked to bring the city back from the brink of lawlessness.  

“He did,” Oliver confirmed. He glanced at his father’s picture one more time before he said, “Alright. It’s time to get to work.”  

Over the next several hours, Oliver and Laurel began the arduous task of building their base of operations: knocking down walls, breaking through the floor to the basement below, maneuvering a generator and other equipment they had had delivered via A.R.G.U.S. and Oliver’s Bratva connections. Soon, they had several tables set up, lights over each of the tables flickered on when Oliver powered up the generator.  

Meanwhile, Laurel set up their computer system at the forefront and started uploading and sorting files. Neither she nor Oliver were especially brilliant with computers, but for their work they didn’t need to be. The men and women they targeted were primarily scum who profited from the suffering of the people in the Glades. They had hoped to outsource any advanced technological help they needed to a contact they had made during their time with A.R.G.U.S., a computer genius named Naomi Singh. But for now, Singh had hacked herself completely off the grid and without a way to contact her, they would need to find someone else if they ever needed more tech help than they were capable of. Most of the programs compiling had been pre-loaded onto the system by their A.R.G.U.S. contact.  This included the programs they would load onto Oliver’s hacking arrows.  

While the computers worked, Laurel donned her new leathers to begin breaking them in and began an exercise involving her nightsticks (she had tried eskrima sticks but found them to be too awkward for her) before moving on to the mixed bag of martial arts she had picked up from Shado, Slade, Tatsu, and others they had met over the years. Oliver, meanwhile, had two other projects: first, he worked on creating new arrows with the machine tools, as well as attaching them to the various technical devices their arms specialist, known only as Jax, had provided for non-lethal takedowns. Neither Oliver nor Laurel were willing to kill bodyguards who had the misfortune of protecting scumbags. Their lethal takedowns would be restricted to those with truly violent records and the ones who refused to stop poisoning the city. After doing this, Oliver began working out his body: doing several reps on the salmon ladder, inverted crunches, and other exercises.  

Finally, he pulled his munitions box out and set it on a table, opening it up. He pulled out his custom recurve bow, strapped his quiver to his back, and loaded up a bucket with tennis balls. Steadying himself, he knocked over the bucket and let the balls bounce out onto the floor. At once, he started drawing, nocking, and firing arrows, one after the other, until all the tennis balls were pinned to the wall, each with an arrow dead center. 

“So, what’s the play?” Laurel asked later, as she stood behind where Oliver was watching a news report about Adam Hunt. Oliver muted it as he considered what they knew about Hunt. The computers, running a search algorithm designed by Naomi, had picked up the information about Hunt’s other illicit activities, including involvement in the sex trade and shipping drugs for the Triad.  

“We’ll pay a visit to Hunt, and ask  _nicely_  that he transfer the appropriate funds,” Oliver said. “If he doesn’t do as we ask, we’ll break him financially.” Oliver moved to where his own outfit was waiting: his tactical armor, a collection of inter-connected plates with chainmail-like fabric allowing for maneuverability, shared the shade of green that Shado’s hood had. Leather bracers to go on his forearms held flechettes. Combined with the state-of-the-art bow he gripped in his hands and his arrows, hand-crafted and sharpened so they could cut through flesh and basic Kevlar (as opposed to the ‘second skin’ type armor enemies of ARGUS wore) and were likewise tinted green as an homage to his training, he was well-prepared and well-armed.  

**_*DC*_ **

In a parking garage, Adam Hunt was walking swiftly towards his waiting town car, his two bodyguards behind him as he spoke with the head of C.N.R.I., Eric Gitter. The man was spineless, but useful for when Hunt needed him to do something for him. In this case, it was to deal with his current nuisance, which sprang from CNRI itself. “You remind Grell I put him on the bench, I can take him off," Hunt said viciously to Gitter, whose subdued attitude spoke to the tongue-lashing he had already received before now. "I will turn him into a cautionary tale." 

“Yes, Mr. Hunt," Gitter replied. 

“As for this attorney of yours, Joanna? You said she wasn't gonna be a problem anymore," Hunt continued. “Since you’ve failed, I’ve asked someone else to deal with it. You’d best start looking for her replacement.” After a few moments of silence from Gitter, Hunt turned and said, “What are you still doing here?” Gitter broke away, heading for his own car.  

As the remaining men came closer to the town car, there was a shrill sound and the lights in the garage exploded one by one. The first guard turned to look, his hand going for his gun in his waistband, until a bolo arrow caught him the shoulder, bringing him down with a cry as the cords wrapped around him. A second arrow slammed into the ground beside his knee, securing his legs in the same fashion. As the first guard writhed on the ground, the second pushed Hunt into the back of the town car. "Get in the car!" he commanded, and then turned around, drawing his weapon and firing several times into the darkened garage. He paused, searching for a target. 

A moment later the guard was hit with a sonic wave that knocked him off his feet. As he stood, shakily, his gun several feet away, he found himself face-to-face with a woman in all-black leather, carrying a pair of nightsticks and her identity disguised by a blonde wig and a domino mask. “Oh, come on, now,” the woman said mockingly, her voice disguised. “You don’t need a gun to take on little old me, now do you? Or is it more about measuring your manhood?”  

The guard leaped at her, intending to drive the breath from her body with a solid blow to the gut, but the woman neatly sidestepped his attack and struck him behind both knees with her sticks. The next moment, he felt a solid blow delivered to the back of his head, and then it was lights out.  

Inside the car, Hunt hunkered down in the backseat, frightened and wondering what was going on. The next moment, the car shook as a chilling scream came from outside, and the glass shattered. A moment later, he was grabbed and dragged from the car, thrown onto the pavement, and he raised his arms to protect himself as he got a good look at his attackers, and wondered if he had stepped into some crazy alternate world. Perched on the roof of car, bow drawn and pointing an arrow at him, was a man, his features obscured a hood pulled over his head and a domino mask hiding his eyes. Aside from the hood, the man’s clothing was very different from your everyday fare, though Hunt’s panicked mind couldn’t quite wrap his head around what he was seeing: an armored figure who seemed to emulating a modern-day Robin Hood by the fact his armor was tinted green, he wore a hood and mask to hide his features, and he was aiming a bow and arrow at Hunt.  

Crouched on the trunk of the car was the woman in black his contact in the police force had told him about, the one who had rescued Oliver Queen and Laurel Lance. She must have been keeping an eye on Joanna de la Vega when she spotted Queen and Lance be taken. Her outfit did not appear nearly so well-armored, and Hunt wondered very briefly about the discrepancy before he focused on the fact he was being held at arrow-point.  

“W-who are you?” Hunt asked, keeping his hands raised. “I-I can get you whatever you want.”  

“If you must have our names, call us the Canary and the Arrow,” the woman in black, the Canary, said. “Unimaginative, true, but it gets the point across.”  

The Arrow chuckled at these words before he jumped off the roof of the car and hauled Hunt to his feet. "You're gonna transfer $40 million into Starling City Bank account 1141 by 10 P.M. tomorrow night," He demanded. 

“Or what?" Hunt shot back, a scowl on his face. For all their scare tactics, these were nothing more than low-income, bottom-feeding filth who couldn’t be bothered to drag themselves up from the muck, whether through legal or illegal means. He had been like them once, but he had learned how to navigate the criminal underworld and profit from it. These people in their silly get-ups? They were just common crooks.  

“Or we’ll take it, and you won't like how," the Arrow replied. He turned to go but was stopped by the Canary’s hand on his arm. “What is it?”  

“I heard him talking to Joanna de la Vega’s boss before you got here,” the Canary replied. “He said he had hired someone to take her out.”  

The Arrow turned and nocked another arrow, aiming at Hunt, who froze in the middle of getting up. “Who’s your merc?” the Arrow growled out.  

“I-I don’t know-” Hunt stuttered out, his mind blank. The green-clad vigilante loosed the arrow, which struck Hunt in the shoulder and sent him sprawling to the ground. Hunt yelled out in pain, hand instinctively going to the shaft sticking out of his shoulder.  

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the Arrow chuckled darkly. “The only thing that hurts worse than an arrow going in, is an arrow coming out. And doing it yourself hurts a hell of a lot worse. Now, who did you hire?”  

“If he still doesn’t answer, let me handle him,” the Canary said, giving Hunt a wicked smile. “I didn’t quite get enough of a workout on those training dummies.”  

Considering what she had done to his security, Hunt didn’t want to know what the Canary would do to him. “I don’t know his name, just an alias! But he’s got a taste for theatricality, and that’s what I wanted. He’s called the Huntsman.”  

The Canary’s reaction to this was a shock to both Adam Hunt and the Arrow. She marched forward, eyes blazing, and pulled out one of nightsticks. A second later, a loud crack was heard, and a muffled moan of pain before Adam Hunt lost consciousness. An instant later, she had turned on her heel and was heading for where they had stashed their bikes. The Arrow caught up to her. “You should get to Hunt’s building and do what you need to,” the Canary told him as she swung one leg over her bike. “He doesn’t deserve the grace period if he’s employing someone like the Huntsman.”  

“Who is he?” the Arrow asked quietly. “I’ve never seen you like this.”  

The Canary met her fiancé’s eyes. “I’ll tell you back at base. Right now, I need to save my friend.” With that, the Canary started up her bike and sped out of the parking structure. The Arrow stood silently for a moment before nodding to himself and getting on his own bike. Whoever the Huntsman was, it was clear the Canary knew what kind of man he was and that if Hunt employed him, there wasn’t a reason to give Hunt the grace period they had agreed on. It was time to make sure the people Hunt had victimized would get compensation.  

**_*DC*_ **

It was rare that he was hired for a job in someplace like Starling City. The people here, jaded as they were, believed themselves rather civilized and so there wasn’t much purchase for a man of his talents, or tastes, in this cesspit. But on occasion, someone was brave enough to risk the attention his type of hit would attract, usually because they wanted to send a message, and the Huntsman was all-too-happy to oblige. Of course, he still had to keep it toned down; his current employer was beholden to someone else, a powerful figure in Starling who had laid claim to the streets long ago and who did not easily give up his territory.  

His current target was a lawyer, Joanna de la Vega. She worked for the City Necessary Resources Initiative and was targeting his current employer. She was also quite the looker, and one he would enjoy carving up. He could already imagine how he would do so. Currently, he was in an alleyway across from CNRI, waiting to see when she would come out and when she did, well, he had managed to find her car was down this alley. A rather foolish mistake on her part. She would come into this alleyway to get into her car, and never be seen alive again. Oh, she would leave in her car, just trussed up in the trunk and knocked out.  

The target was coming out of her offices now, and the Huntsman melted back into the shadows. He eyed her speculatively as she walked towards him, focused on something on her smartphone, unaware that she had only moments of freedom remaining, that the remainder of her very short life would be filled with fear, terror, disbelieving horror. The Huntsman felt his heartbeat quicken as she crossed from the sidewalk into the alleyway. Crouched in the shadows as he was, she walked right past him. The time to strike had come.  

Pulling the syringe filled with a strong sedative from his coat, he stood and strode out of where he had been hiding, his long, determined strides catching up to her slow, unfocused ones quickly. She had only a moment to realize she was in any sort of danger before the syringe was in her neck and he was pressing the plunger, injecting the sedative into her bloodstream. It wouldn’t knock her out completely, just make her pliable enough that she wouldn’t put up a fight. The best part, of course, was that she would be lucid throughout the entire thing. He caught her as she fell backwards, heard her breath quicken with panic, and chuckled. “Oh, I do love these first moments,” he told her, “as the prey realizes that they’ve been snared. It’s a wonderful feeling, like the climax of a sexual act.” He heard a motorcycle nearby but paid it no mind.  

He pulled her off to the side, searching the pockets of her coat and finding her keys. Pressing the button that turned off the car alarm and laid her out on ground below the trunk of her car, pulling out the zip cuffs and securing her arms behind her, then using another pair to tie her ankles together. He used one final pair to link the cuffs on her ankles and wrists, placing her into a hog-tie position. “Now, let’s get you loaded up and head to my little hideout, where we can have some real fun,” he said to her.  

Meanwhile, the Canary had arrived at CNRI and looked around, eyes worried. She knew better than anyone what kind of monster the Huntsman was, and what he would do to Joanna. She had been lucky enough to never find herself in his grip, though there had been a few close calls during the time she hunted him for A.R.G.U.S. She couldn’t believe Waller had wanted to recruit that maniac for Task Force X. Some of them were bad off, but he was worse than any of the ones she had seen assigned to the task force.  

The Canary caught site of movement in the alleyway across the street and moved to the entrance of the alley and saw the familiar form of the Huntsman crouched over a groggy-looking Joanna. He heard him tell Joanna it was time to get her loaded up and felt the fire that had been burning in her veins since Adam Hunt had told them who he had hired suddenly go out, knowing what kind of things the Huntsman would do, burn even hotter. Every time she went into battle, this happened, and was a sign that the gene therapy she had undergone (involuntarily) at the hands of A.R.G.U.S. doctors to develop the Canary Cry was fully active. “She’s not going anywhere with you,” the Canary hissed out, her voice disguised as it had always been during their confrontations. “It’s about time you got locked up.”  

The Huntsman rose to his feet and turned, a delighted smile spreading across his handsome features as he took in the sight. “Well, if it isn’t the little songbird that chased me across Europe and Asia,” he said jovially, as though they were old friends recently reunited and there wasn’t a woman tied up behind him. “Still doing A.R.G.U.S.’ bidding, hmm? Or have you finally gone freelance?”  

“A.R.G.U.S. was never my employer, and now I’m not beholden to them,” the Canary said, as she stepped closer. “I swore that if I had ever caught you, I’d have killed you, Waller be damned.” With that, the niceties were over, and the Canary unleashed a Canary Cry, this one modulated to impact the Huntsman with a sonic wave and send him flying. The man did just that, though he adjusted his body as he was sent flying so that he landed on his feet, already drawing a pair of knives, which he threw towards the Canary. Another Cry sent the knives off-course, and they dropped, one of them landing close to Joanna, who weakly shifted her body to try and use it to cut herself free.  

Meanwhile, the Canary took a running attack at the Huntsman, climbing onto a car and leaping forward, lashing out with a kick. The Huntsman grabbed her by the ankle and behind the knee and used his considerable upper body strength and her own momentum to turn them before letting loose, sending her flying backwards and landing on the ground of the alleyway, which was littered with broken bottles. The Canary gasped as the bottles pierced her leather suit and made a mental note to have an upgrade with Kevlar. Ollie would never let her hear the end of this, she realized with a scowl.  

She struggled to her feet even as the Huntsman bore down on her, pulling her eskrima sticks out and lurching forward to meet the bastard head-on. She blocked out the pain of the glass still in her back and swung at the Huntsman, who ducked under the swing but failed to note the upward swing of the other stick, which nailed him right in the testicles. He sucked in a breath and stumbled back. She moved to press her advantage but was surprised when the Huntsman shot a hand towards her, palm first. At first she thought he was trying to shove her back, but then she felt the bite of a needle making its way into her body and injecting her with a sedative.  

“You should’ve remembered,” the man said, his voice muffled by the sedative as she fell onto her back once more, “I always have a back-up. I have a job to finish, little songbird, but don’t worry. Now that I know you’re in this city, I’ll stick around. I still long to taste you.” The Huntsman moved away, and the Canary could hear the muffled shouting as he stopped Joanna from escaping. The Canary barely managed to activate her emergency transponder before she couldn’t move at all, only hear the roar of Joanna’s car as it pulled away. Tears of frustration and anger welled up in her eyes, knowing what awaited her friend and knowing she wouldn’t be able to save her.  

**_*DC*_ **

It wasn’t too bad of a night for a walk, thought Ted Grant as he headed home from his gym, which lay near CNRI. Not a lot was going on in the Glades now, a rarity but Ted would take it. Half the time he had had to sleep at the gym because of some turf war between the likes of Cherry Noeller and Daniel Brickwell, or even worse, the turf wars between the Triad, Bratva, and Frank Bertinelli. Not something that was enjoyable for long-time residents of the Glades, but they had learned to live with it. Ted had tried to make things better a few years back, even had a protégé helping him, but things had gone south, and he had hung up his mask and gloves, swearing to never go back to that life. It wasn’t worth it.  

A moan caught his attention as he passed an alleyway, and he stopped. Despite not being a vigilante anymore, he still felt the need to help people. Making a split-second decision, Ted moved down the alleyway and was shocked to find a woman in a black leather bodysuit, mask, and blonde wig laying on the ground, wide awake but unmoving. He knelt beside her, shaking his head. “I guess it was too much to hope someone wouldn’t do the same thing I did,” he said softly, checking her over. “I get it; you want to fix what’s broken. But this isn’t the answer.”  

The roar of a motorbike filled the air and Ted turned as the bike in question turned into the alleyway, and its rider dismounted, arming himself quickly. Ted raised his hands, taking in the figure in front of him. Green leather, shoulder guards, sleeves, a pair of bracers with flechettes mounted on them, and a bow and arrow aimed at him. “Step away from her,” the new vigilante said.  

“Easy,” Ted said, standing and moving away as the vigilante came towards him. “I just found her like this. I was trying to help.” The man studied him for a moment before nodding sharply. Ted let his hands drop to his sides as the vigilante crouched beside his partner (which Ted had realized that’s what they were within seconds of this archer arriving), checking the black-clad woman over. Ted said, “I know what it’s like to want to try and save the city, man, but all this is going to do is end up with one of you dead or captured by one of the big gangs.”  

“She’s better than you think,” the archer replied. He moved to pick up the woman.  

“Exactly how do you plan on getting back to wherever you operate from with just a bike?” Ted asked, and the archer paused. “My place is nearby. I don’t normally drive, but I got a car and I can get you to your base, or at least close if you don’t trust me enough. Us vigilantes, current or former, should stick together. I think you’re both being idiots for doing this, but I get why you are. I just hope you realize what I did before it’s too late, unlike me.”  

The archer looked down at his partner, debating, before nodding. “Get your car,” he said. “But if you’re looking to stab us in the back, I’ll cut out your heart.”  

“Understood,” Ted said with a roll of his eyes. This guy had a serious stick up his ass.  

**_*DC*_**  

Hours later, Laurel woke from her slumber in the lair. Oliver, seated nearby, moved to help her sit up. “Easy,” he said, getting a bottle of water and handing it to her. She drank as he continued, “I pulled out the glass and stitched you up, then went back and got your bike.” He was silent for a moment, before he said, “Do you want to talk about it?”  

Laurel nodded, knowing it was time to tell her fiancé what she had been up to while he had been working to take down first Kovar and his plans to bring back the old Soviet Empire in Russia, then Baron Reiter and his Neo-Nazi Shadowspire organization on Lian Yu. She moved so she was seated more evenly and looked Oliver in the eye. “When you were dealing with Kovar and Reiter, Waller asked me to hunt down someone she wanted for Task Force X,” she began. “He was a contract killer with a unique, theatrical M.O.: his targets are always women, usually those who challenge the status quo, and he hunts them down, cooks them alive, and then sends carved portions and pictures to news outlets and their families. He’s also a cannibal himself.”  

“The Huntsman,” Oliver said, finally realizing the reasoning behind the killer’s name. He was disgusted with the modus operandi and could just see why Waller would want someone like that on Task Force X. It was creative, if positively revolting, and she loved creative people being under her employ.  

Laurel nodded, and said, “I chased him across Europe and Asia, finally cornering him back in Hong Kong,” she told him. “It was on a freighter, it was storming, and we fought. I sent him overboard, and I thought that was the end of it, until Hunt mentioned him tonight.” Laurel looked at Oliver, her composure breaking as she said, “Ollie, he has Joanna. I couldn’t stop him, I couldn’t save her. And I know what he’s going to do to her.” Laurel broke down, and Oliver held her close, closing his eyes as he realized that, once more, he had failed to protect her, as he had sworn to do all those years ago in the middle of the ocean.  

**_*DC*_ **

_Five Years Ago_

It had been several days, and everyone on the raft knew that they were running low on provisions. The crewman dozed across from Robert, Oliver, and Laurel, perched on the side of the raft with a knife held loosely in his hand. All three of them were eying him warily, wondering if he would use the knife on them if given the chance. Laurel was huddled beside Oliver, her mind numb. It was difficult to imagine the  _Gambit_  going down in the storm, and the way Robert had spoken, it sounded like the  _Gambit_  wasn’t an accident.  

Robert glanced at the crewman, and then pulled Oliver in close. 

“There's not enough for all of us." He whispered to his son. 

“Save your strength." Oliver said, weakly. 

“I will," Robert said. "I will make it home, make it better, and right the wrongs I committed. But I must commit a few more before I can do that. I’m sorry, Ollie, Laurel."  

“Just rest, dad." Oliver said tiredly, beginning to doze off, as Laurel was. Robert knew then that his decision was the right one. Neither Laurel nor Oliver would make it without the other, and there wasn’t enough food or water left, even with careful rationing. “I’m sorry," he said quietly, kissing his son on the forehead. He gently moved Oliver away from him, propping him up against the edge of the raft. Then, eyeing his bodyguard, he reached into his jacket, and pulled out the gun he had concealed there, which he had carried since the day he had chosen to defy Malcolm. Hackett only had a moment to look surprised before Robert pulled the trigger, shooting the man in the head and knocking him off the raft.  

This woke Oliver up suddenly, and he scrambled back from his dad in shock, moving to guard a terrified Laurel, who was watching this unfold with disbelief. 

“Dad?!"he exclaimed in stunned horror. 

Robert looked sadly back at his son. "I’m sorry, son, but only one of us is making it out of this alive. I promise, it will be quick." He moved to aim the gun, and in that moment, Oliver Queen changed forever. He was not going to let his father kill him, or Laurel, as he had that crewman. Oliver surged forward, rocking the raft slightly, and pushed the pistol up in the air. Robert and Oliver struggled for a moment, Robert gaining a position over Oliver on the raft. “Don’t you understand?” he all but shouted. “I am the only one who can fix this! I have to be the one to survive!”  

Oliver, through gritted teeth, slowly began to turn the gun away from him and towards his father. “You told me that I needed to fight to keep Laurel, and I’m going to,” Oliver told him. “I’m going to fight to keep her alive, and I’m going to protect her, even from you!” With that, Oliver jerked his knee upwards, striking his father between the legs. Surprised, Robert’s grip faltered, and that was all Oliver needed to push the gun to face upward. Finger closing over his father’s, Oliver uttered a, “Sorry, Dad,” before he fired. The bullet shot upward into Robert’s skull. The body of the patriarch of the Queen family fell to the side as Oliver, spattered with blood and brain matter, dropped the gun, shaking as what he had just done caught up with him.  

Laurel moved slowly to sit beside him and dipped her hand over the side. “Close your eyes, Ollie,” she murmured, and began using the sea water to clean the blood and brain matter off her boyfriend. She was shocked, horrified at what Oliver had had to do, but she was also grateful for what he had done to keep the two of them safe. She had never imagined Robert would become so unhinged, but whatever had been driving him, she knew that it had to be serious. For the time being, however, she needed to help Ollie sort through what happened. Then they needed to focus on surviving.  

**_*DC*_ **

_Present Day_

In the Lair, Laurel finally got control of her emotions. Wiping her eyes as she backed away from Oliver’s embrace, she looked up at him and asked, “How did it go at Hunt’s building?”  

“The transfer went smoothly,” Oliver told her. “Every one of his victims has received a payment of fifty-thousand dollars along with a message that this is to make up for all the pain that Hunt has caused them, and to not tell anyone where the money came from.”  

“Good,” Laurel said, smiling viciously. “I wish we could see his face when he finds out what happened.”  

**_*DC*_ **

At Starling General, Quentin Lance and Lucas Hilton exchanged looks after hearing Adam Hunt’s story. Well, hearing was a misnomer; the man had had to write it out and have the uniformed cop beside him read it out loud. It had been a lengthier interrogation process, to be sure, but they had got the information they needed. Their woman in black was already back to work, and she had a partner, some modern-day Robin Hood from the description that they had been given complete with a green outfit and wielding a bow and arrow. Hunt had also listed the silly-sounding names they had given as their alias. The Canary and the Arrow. The city already had to deal with some drug-dealing asshole who the media had labeled as the Count, and there were rumors of an enforcer for someone who was merely called the Swordsman. Stupid names all around these days.  

As they were finishing up, a man in a suit came into the room. This was Hunt’s attorney, a sleaze-ball named George Wolfman, who had also represented the likes of Cyrus Vanch in the past. “Apologies for the interruption, Detectives,” the man said. “I’ve just received some rather bad news. Bad for Mr. Hunt, that is.” Wolfman turned to where Hunt lay and said, “On my way here I checked to make sure the retainer had been paid, Mr. Hunt. When I found it hadn’t, I sent an inquiry, and found that all your accounts have been drained. I’m afraid I will have to terminate my services as you can no longer afford them. I wish you well in finding a new attorney. Perhaps look to C.N.R.I.?” With that, Wolfman strode out with a self-satisfied expression on his face. Hunt was furious but unable to express his displeasure.  

Quentin looked to the man in the bed and said, “Well, Mr. Hunt, we’ll leave you your recovery. If you remember anything else, well, contact the S.C.P.D. Maybe email?” Quentin walked out of the hospital room with Hilton on his hills, trying to hide his amusement.  

“You love needling men like that, don’t you?” Hilton asked. “You know that’s why Pike has it in for you.”  

“Pike’s so busy trying to kiss the ass of every big name in the city that he’s forgotten how to be a cop,” Quentin said as they got on the elevator and hit the button marked P1. “The day I worry about what he thinks of me needling assholes like Hunt is the day I start schmoozing it up on purpose. I see enough of the one percent with my daughters being involved with the Queens and Merlyns. I don’t need to kiss ass.” Hilton had to concede the point there. With each of his daughters engaged to the heirs apparent of the Queen and Merlyn families, Quentin was probably the cop with the most job security; even if he was fired, he was assured the possibility as head of security at either firm through nepotism.  

**_*DC*_ **

The next morning, the news reported the murder of Joanna, though not the method used, and the guilty party was labeled due to the killer contacting the police and informing them who had hired him. Apparently, Adam Hunt’s funds had been seized by the vigilantes before the payment had gone through, and the Huntsman did not owe Adam Hunt his silence. The news also somehow botched the names of the vigilantes, in the eyes of said vigilantes, calling them the Green Arrow and the Black Canary.  

Adam Hunt had been arrested for the contracted murder of Joanna de la Vega, whose remains had been delivered to news networks, federal offices, and the home of Joanna’s family. Upon hearing this news, Sara had raced to the Queen Mansion and found Laurel being comforted by Oliver. She had joined in, just sitting with Laurel. Thea had come to do the same once she got home from school. For a long time, Laurel was quiet. Finally, she looked to Sara and said, “Do you know anyplace good to train? I need to keep sharp if men like that are around the city, and I don’t want to rely just on what I picked up on the Island with Ollie.”  

Sara nodded. “I know a place. A boxing gym run by a guy who helps kids get out of the gang life as much as he can. His name’s Ted Grant. I’ll show you the way in a few days, if you like.”  

“Thank you, Sara,” Laurel replied. She was glad she had gotten most of her emotions out of the way in the Lair with Oliver, but she wondered if she came across cold by acting like this just after ‘officially’ learning that her best friend from college had been killed.  

**_*DC*_ **

The explosion overturned the cop car transporting Adam Hunt to Iron Heights. The car landed on its roof, and the police officers inside crawled out, guns raising as they spotted the figure standing nearby, sword already out. Before they could speak, the Swordsman had moved forward, cleaving one man’s head off before he loosed a throwing knife in the direction of the second officer, which cut through the man’s voicebox. The man dropped to the ground, convulsing as blood gushed out around the blade. The Swordsman paid the dying policeman no mind as he reached into the broken back window of the police car and pulled Adam Hunt out of it. The man stared up fearfully at him.  

“Mr. Merlyn does not take kindly to those who bring unwanted attention to his endeavors,” the Swordsman informed Hunt before beheading him. As Hunt’s body fell to the ground, the Swordsman sheathed his Japanese katana in the scabbard on his back and departed the scene silently, his work complete.  

**_*DC*_ **

In his home in Starling, Quentin Lance listened to the news report summing up the day’s events, but not really hearing the words. Ever since the news had called the female vigilante the Black Canary, he had been struck with the horrible realization that he was all-too-certain who was under the mask. If he was right, his little girl had taken whatever she had had to do in her years in exile with Queen and turned it to cleaning up the city in the most brutal way possible. Worse, if he was right, then he already knew who her partner was. The question that was reverberating in Quentin’s mind, though, was why? Why had Queen and Laurel decided to do this? Why live such a dangerous life when they had just gotten back?  

Quentin’s eyes strayed to the cabinet where he kept the whiskey. It was the same brand of whiskey he had been drinking the day Sara and Dinah had found him inconsolable over the sinking of the  _Gambit_. He really wanted to drink and just forget what he had come to realize, even if he didn’t really have proof. But no, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t go down that path again. He needed to keep his head clear now that he was guarding this horrible secret. He just hoped that Laurel would tell him one day and they could work on making it right together.  

**_*DC*_ **

On a rooftop in the Glades, the city’s newest vigilantes perched and looked out over the streets. The Black Canary, sans blonde wig, was eying the direction in which Adam Hunt’s former whorehouses lay. The Green Arrow’s own attention was focused in the opposite direction, towards downtown. “Why’d you get rid of the wig?” Green Arrow asked his fiancé.  

“It got in my way and kept me from seeing the bulge in the Huntsman’s sleeve,” Black Canary replied. “I don’t care if people connect my hair, Arrow. There’s plenty of blondes out there. Speaking of, I’m heading to Hunt’s whorehouses. Some of those men are bound to be trying to take more than a few liberties.”  

“Meanwhile, I’m going to pay a visit to Cherry Noeller,” Green Arrow replied. He put a hand on Black Canary’s shoulder. “We’ll find him, Canary. We’ll find the Huntsman, and we won’t let him worm his way out of receiving a just reward.” 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed this. While I am posting it for posterity at the moment, I am willing to continue the series. But I suggest you reserve judgment on that front until you've read all three of the finished episodes I had written.


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